Numbers and Letters
by cagedbird361
Summary: Through his entire life, he bound by the numbers and letters that controlled his every waking moment.  And no matter how or with who he lived his life, they were never far behind to remind him he could never transcend their rule. MelloxOCxMatt
1. Chapter 1: Puppet

Chapter 1: Puppet

Numbers and letters.

They were his rulers, his kings. His gods.

Like a puppet, his strings jerking him along to the master's capricious whims, a deity tittering as his body hung limp from his binds. He was pulled which ever way the higher power wished, never given any insight to his next wringing, never warned that the ground may any moment cave beneath his feet.

And each tug from the strings wrenched his arms from their sockets, pulled at his body like the tortuous rack, made his head feel as if it would burst. He knew he was braking, each day he felt his limbs remain farther from him. And one day, he knew they would never reattach and he would lose them forever. He would become the toy that the child discarded once it had served its purpose, the one that was always quickly replaced with the newer and far more utilitarian model. He would be left in pieces, his strings frayed and weak, ready to snap at the next touch. He would be the tool that was unable to complete the job, the tool that was left to rust once its ability was seen as insufficient.

He knew this all too well. He did everything that he was supposed to do, everything that was expected of him, everything that would have made anyone else the best. But that was never his case. He had never been the master's most prized marionette.

That role had been given to another, more efficient puppet.

And that fact would perpetually reside in the forefront of his mind. Just as the fact that he would only ever be the second, never the first. Just as the fact that the letters marking the tops of the tests he took in red ink were lower than that of the star puppet. And he could do nothing about it. He did everything he was supposed to do… everything and more… yet he could never be the superior.

A whimper escaped his throat into the scratchy linen of his pillow. He balled his hands into fists, clasping the sheets with white knuckles, a growl bubbling up from his chest. The sound hurt, the tension in his muscles causing every breath to become the stab of a fiery knife deep into his heart. It was not fair. He had always felt that way, as if there was something he was missing, some vital piece of the machine that made all the cogs fit together and function as they were meant to, a single piece that would let him transcend his inferiority.

Second best is worst than last. You always have that monster clinging to your back, whispering that you could have done better, that you had the option of victory, that all you would have had to do was take that extra step to reach out and take it.

But that one step was never taken. And the mockery and the mistake would haunt you forever.

A sob slipped into the night air as he curled into a fetal position on the stiff mattress, pulling his pillow more firmly over his head. He knew exactly why A had committed suicide. He could not blame his predecessor at all for making that decision. It had been a wise choice, far more wise than enduring the hell of the living world. But he did not have the choice of ending it for himself. His pride would never allow him to jump from the chair with a noose around his neck. His pride would never allow his nemesis to be given the victory by default.

But all the same, the numbers and letters never lied. He had never, even once, been the superior.

And that was the way it would stay.

_I'm running out of time. L is going to choose one of us before long… And If I don't get ahead soon… he's going to choose Near…_

He felt his eyes grow hot with welling tears and he pressed the pillow more firmly to his eyes. _Damn it! I'm not upset! Why the hell am I crying? Damn you, Near… Damn you!_

He had always let his emotions get the better of him. He had been told far too many times by too many psychologists and therapists to deny it anymore. He had been found too many times in the library tearing the books from their shelves and rending the pages from the books, screaming for the world to hear him without any consideration. He had gotten into far too many fights over the smallest comments when the right thing was said at the wrong time.

But it was not the incessant squabbling of the therapists or the constant mediation of the medical staff that made him want to turn the world upside down to let everyone fall into the sky. There was only one thing that made him want to set fire to the earth and let everyone experience the hell he called his own. He could care less about what the psychologists thought of his mental stability.

It was only the blank gaze of the pale gray eyes of his superior that made him want to detonate his life and let the ashes bury all whom he hated. Those indifferent gray eyes peering at him from beneath the shaggy mop of white hair, the eyes that belittled him. And he could always hear, echoing in his head, the part deep within Near that actually did show his feelings, a mocking laughter and cold words murmuring "If you can't win the game, if you can't solve the puzzle, then you lose. End of story."

But Mello knew it was all just within his own head. Near would never say such words to him, let alone bother to care about his minor episodes of insanity. It was just an opportunity for the superior to lengthen the gap between them, a moment where a reprieve could have been taken, but it was used for a far more strategic matter.

And thus the wicked cycle began.

Mello strove the farthest he could, doing everything humanly possible to overcome the one obstacle that he could never seem to surmount, to cross the abyss that no bridge could ever span. And when his mind had stretched and reached as far as it possibly could, it would snap, and he would crumble with it. And he would cascade into the void in millions of different fragments, hitting the ground only to shatter into even finer dust. And while he was pulling himself up from the ground, held together with straightjackets and narcotics, the superior made the gap between them even greater than it had been. And so Mello would rise from the rubble, staring across the ravine, to the finish line of a race he had fallen too far behind in, brushing himself off, and beginning from where he started. And his battle never ended any other way.

And the puppet continued to dance for his master.

Mello shivered in the humid summer air, the rains saturating the world and making his body slick with sweat. He was fraying again and knew he the ground would drop out from beneath his feet sooner than he would prefer. And all he could do was drift off into a fitful slumber, knowing he would be waking in a few hours to face the rising sun. And he would begin his routine again.

Numbers and letters locked the manacles around his wrists and ankles, drawing them tight until the skin grew raw. Numbers and letters held him in a chokehold, refusing to ease their hold. And his pride refused to let him tap out. His only option was to endure with what little he had left. Endure and wait for the day when the numbers and letters would finally let him sleep in peace.

And a much-needed night's rest would not come to him that particular evening. Groaning low in his throat, Mello pushed himself up into a sitting position, staring at the door with distant eyes. He pulled himself from his uncomfortable bed and plodded to the entranceway, his legs leaden and difficult to move. He clasped the doorknob and twisted, giving it a jerk to free the door from the frame, the humidity causing the wood to swell and become tight. Not bothering to close the door behind him, knowing he would return to his room before anyone else in the orphanage would wake, he staggered down the hall, hand on the wall to support himself. He found it difficult to breathe, as if the dense air was thick smog, filled with impurities that would poison his body. He unconsciously counted the doors, his feet producing scuffing sounds as he dragged them across the hardwood floor.

The door labeled with the small brass oval etched with a 340. It was the only room besides Near's whose inhabitant he could be certain of. Mello let his knuckles strike the wood twice before his arm fell limp at his side. He heard the sound of a chair being drawn back and quick footsteps approaching before the door cracked open with difficulty. It too had swelled in its frame and the hinges let out an annoyed whine.

"I had a feeling you'd come crawling over here tonight, Mello. I saw the grade you got on that Marxist analysis we had to do… It was high enough to ensure your rank but… I won't talk about Near right now…

Matt. He was an odd child, the type that preferred a pixilated screen to a human face. He had a tendency to avoid many of the other children he had the option of interacting with, finding no interest in small talk or friendly banter of any kind. With most people. But the walls he build around himself, shielding the world he had created for himself from prying eyes, would be lowered slightly for Mello to climb over the ledges and make himself comfortable. Matt had a good head on his shoulders, Mello always thought when watching the way he walked. He was aloof by choice, uninterested in the troubles of the world around him. Misanthropic? No, that was incorrect. Matt just did not care, opting to separate himself from a world that everyone else had agreed to join. And he never skipped a chance to mock the people who resided outside of his own universe.

Mello said nothing as he pushed the door open enough to slide his thin body into the other boy's room, ignoring the angered squeal of the door hinges. He walked directly to the unmade bed that Matt called his own, and dropped down into the wrinkled mass of bedspread and blankets. He could hear Matt chuckling to himself, hearing the swish of his brown hair as he shook his head.

"Not gonna buy me dinner first before getting into my bed?"

Mello glanced at him from the side of his eye, completely immune to the witty comment from hearing the repertoire on countless past occasions.

"So you here to talk? Or you just want to sleep?"

Mello responded with a grumbled that became lost within the bedclothes that he buried his face into.

"I'll assume the latter." Matt heaved a sigh. "I gotta quick question before you nod off. You finish that essay on genetic engineering, right? I can't find a source for my last argument."

Mello rolled onto his side and locked Matt's gaze, beholding him fully for the first time that night. It was clear Matt had either been preparing to sleep or had become overheated from the lack of clothing he wore. He was the type to sleep in nothing but his boxers, even in the dead of winter, and he was dressed in such presently. His frame was nearly as frail as Mello's, but something about the quirky youth made him appear weaker than he actually was. Whether it was the paleness of his skin from lack of sun exposure as he spent most of his time under roofs and away from windows, or the way he had a slight twitch to his limbs, a side effect from stress he had been diagnosed, he seemed inferior to the blonde that had claimed his bed.

"Yeah, I finished it." Mello barely recognized his own voice. It was raspy, wavering. The dead of the night was when he felt the choke of the master's strings pulling the hardest, at night when there was no other force acting on him to divert his attention. "Why haven't you? You're good with a computer."

"Yeah, I know," Matt muttered with a roll of his eyes. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the glow of a monitor that stood on his cluttered desk. Wires and cables covered every available surface in a tangled nest of electronics, notebooks and loose sheets of paper encrypted with scrawled handwriting strewn over the discord. Very few orphans were permitted to possess personal computers, but Matt had been a special case. His interest for anything electronic and the efficiency in which he used it had earned him the uncommon privilege. "I've been trying to finish it for the past three hours, ergo I'm up later than usual. So you feeling generous? Want to help me out?"

Mello regarded him blankly. The quirky lift of one side of his mouth into a half smirk, the glow of the monitor casting sharp shadows across his round face, the ghostly sheen of his skin, the playful glint in his eye. Matt was far different from the other high ranking boys within the orphanage. He was not bound by their world.

"Why don't you just hack into some scientific institution?" Mello rolled over and turned his face away from Matt, feeling nauseous from the carefree aura that emanated throughout the room.

"I had thought to do that… But Roger got pissed at me last time… said I wasn't working to my full potential… that I was taking the easy way out. But, you know, what the hell? I'll go for it. It's what I do best after all. And it's not like I care about what Roger's gotta say. That old geezer doesn't even like a single one of us anyway! He just sticks around because the pay is high and the benefits are good!"

Mello heard Matt plunk down into his chair and his nimble fingers began attacking the keyboard. Breathing a relaxing sigh for the first time in several days, Mello let the immense weight of his body sink him down in to the mattress of Matt's bed. He listened to the clinking of Matt's fingertips over the keys. It was a steady stream, the clunk of the backspace bar never sounding. It was this momentary perfection that soothed the wildest tempests in Mello's mind to calm trade winds. Without interruption, besides the heavy click of the mouse, Matt never made any mistakes in his typing. He was the master of the keys, the piper of the electrical world. And being in the same room with this master, falling asleep in his bed, listening to the stability with which he worked made Mello content.

Because this master was his inferior.

Because, despite the perfection that he exhibited, the ease at which he commanded, he was unable to usurp Mello from his position. And if the boy ranked third had such power, then the boy ranked second must hold even greater abilities. Mello would never discuss it, never allow Matt to know what his true reasons were to crawl beneath his blankets in the dead of night were. He kept that to himself. The one fact that kept him from being lost in the myriad of hardships he defined as his life. Matt kept him alive. Kept him alive by being the loser.

And Mello found himself drifting off with a peace in his mind that so rarely settled onto his shoulders. As Matt struck as the keys, as he strung the letters together to form the words of his work, Mello allowed the tension to leave his body. Because those words, those letters that Matt chose, would never be as great as his own. They would never surpass him. In those moments of the night, listening to the letters being arranged by his inferior, Mello could swear he would hear the puppet master sigh in defeat and the strings would go slack. And in those moments, the numbers and letters held no power over him. If only for those moments, it was enough.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Author Note: Hey there everyone! I know I've been gone for... a loooooooong time. Sorry about that. Things have been tough for me and time is a luxury I have not had in a while. I slipped this in... I'm sorry to say my mind has wandered from my other stories but I swear I'll get back to them. I swear. So this has been my plot bunny for a while. The thing is, I'm conflicted. I have two ways I want this to go: the practical, most-likely-to-happen-in-the-canon way... or my imagination's way... So I'm debating that. And I'm broadening my horizons in my writing... a lot... Some people might not like where I take this, as it's going to be a lot different than what I've usually done. But, hey, do what you wish and feed back is much loved. I don't have much else to say... other than... of course there's going to be an OC. I'm cagedbird361, after all. Me without an OC in a story is like L without cake: we just have to be together. So she'll be around a bit later, but won't be as drastic a part of the story as my other OCs floating around here... I won't give too much away now. Oh... and as for pairings, you read them right. As for the "branching out" I mentioned earlier... I'm attempting a bit of shounen-ai... I'll see how that goes...So review to me are like apples to Ryuk! Peace out.

-cagedbird361


	2. Chapter 2: Enemy

Chapter 2: Enemy

The morning came far too quickly for his liking.

Of course Matt had a room that had a north-facing window, allowing no rays from the setting or rising sun to disturb him. It was only when the light seeping though his eyelids took on a golden hue that Mello realized that the night had gone. He cracked his eyes open and slowly ran them over the room, blinking to adjust his dilated pupils. Matt was snoring softly, his head resting on his arms, brown hair tousled. He had fallen asleep at his desk, the screen saver bouncing around the computer monitor.

Mello soundlessly rose, stood, and pulled the blankets taut over the mattress, his small thanks for Matt's hospitality. He turned to Matt and gazed at his back, the pale flesh unmarred and rising with each breath he took. Mello extended his hand out, reaching for the expanse of perfection, almost imagining that he could take it and keep it with him for the rest of his life. He would keep that perfection in his pocket and clutch it whenever he felt himself slipping, using it to seal the cracks that would branch throughout his soul. It was so close, just beyond his fingertips, something so close and so reachable, something that could so easily become his.

Mello drew his hand back to his side and made his way toward the door. It was a foolish thought, a selfish whim. Matt kept him alive, kept his feet on the ground that wavered and quaked with each passing day, kept the noose around his neck from squeezing too tight. But it was not his place to claim Matt for himself. He was a person, just like everyone else in the orphanage, no matter how odd or deranged those people may be. He belonged to himself and no one else. He was not an object to be used for personal gain. Mello felt he always had to remind himself of that every morning when he retreated from Matt's room.

_What would happen if I dragged him from his world and into ours? What would Matt become? Would he change into just another unbalanced tightrope walker? Just another puppet in the show…? I can't do that to him. He doesn't deserve to have the carpet ripped out from under him. His world is the only place that I can find stability._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Come play with us, Mello!"

He looked up through his hair at the boy and girl standing before him. The girl was smiling sweetly, hands behind her back. The boy stood confidently with his arms folded over his chest. They were from the other side of the orphanage, the side oblivious to the world in which Mello lived. They had time, something he did not. He sat in the entryway of the large, double oak doors that marked the main entrance of the orphanage, shadowed from the glaring midday sun. The boy and the girl stood just outside the shadow, remaining in the glinting sunlight.

"I can't. I have work to do."

"Aw, c'mon, Mello!" The boy beckoned him with a wave. "All you ever do is study. Why not just run around for a while. You'll burn off some stress and be able to think clearer afterward."

"I told you, I can't." Mello rose to his feet, closing the encyclopedia that had been resting in his lap. He turned to the building and allowed it to swallow him within its vast architecture, moving quickly to deter the boy and the girl from following him.

A brief history lesson prior to his admittance into "Successors of L" program had taught him that the orphanage had been a church back in a year he could not remember. Many additions had been constructed to board the population of children and supply classrooms and libraries for their studies. But the majority of the sanctuary had been left untouched, only doorways being added to provide access to the rest of the building. The crucifix had been removed long ago, but its outline remained stained on the wall that had supported it, lingering as a scorned ghost to remind the perpetrators that flight was futile.

Mello impulsively crossed himself. It was a habit he had formed, every time he walked past the immense stain of the Christian savior. He had no impetus to follow the religious beliefs, no interest to bind himself by the laws of a supernatural being who spoke to his worshipers through the loose interpretations of a book. He already had enough laws binding him to subject himself to yet another ball and chain. But it was his small defiance, giving the small gesture to the obscure shape of the crucifix. As if he could insult the forces of competition that held him, he acknowledged the existence of another being of power greater than that of a material world. It was a foolish hope, an idiotic idea that one force would fight and usurp another just because of a small motion of recognition. And even if, by some odd change, it did occur and Mello was freed from the gods that tormented him, his fealty to his savior would be demanded.

It was an undying cycle of action and payment. Everyone wants something in return for good deeds. And Mello wanted nothing to do with another creature siphoning away his sanity.

"Why do you cross yourself, Mello?"

His gaze locked on the speaker, the child-like figure clothed in white sitting on the floor across the room. From beneath the stain of the crucifix, Near parted his gaze from his puzzle and turned his head to return Mello's fiery glare with one of indifference.

"I'll do what I want, Near! Don't involve yourself in things that don't concern you!" His voice echoed off of the high ceilings, ringing against the marble floors and support columns, attracting the attention of several children from outside.

"You shouldn't yell in a place like this." Near looked back to his puzzle, plucking pieces from the floor and placing them within the wooden boarder. "I know as little about religion as you do, but I'm almost certain that raising one's voice is improper and disrespectful in the presence of the Son of God."

Mello's anger had peaked the moment he caught sight of the younger boy, his place chosen almost with the intent of encountering Mello and confronting him. Mello felt himself take a step forward, his clutch on the encyclopedia under his arm growing tighter.

"And what about you, Near? _You_ shouldn't be playing with toys under a crucifix. Isn't _that _disrespectful, too?" His voice was tight with rage, spoken between gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

Near paused in his action of placing the final piece into his puzzle. His eyes fell into shadow and a hand raised to entwined his thin fingers into his white hair. "Perhaps it is, Mello. I may be just as boorish as you." He took hold of the frame and flipped it over, causing the pieces to dislodge and spill onto the floor. "It seems we both may invoke the wrathful judgment of god. Then the question that remains…" Near glanced over at Mello, his grey eyes losing their indifference and taking on a dark edge "…which of us will survive when he rains down his fiery wrath?"

Mello knew he would have thrown himself at Near had he taken his words in a literal sense. It was the ambiguity; the way Near could have meant the wrath of the Christian savior or the wrath of the gods that held him now. Mello knew fully well that Near was testing him, inquiring whether or not he felt it too. It had never occurred to Mello that Near was bound by the same chains as himself; it had never occurred to him that the same demons scraping away at his heart resonated within Near's.

Mello watched as Near swiped the pieces of his puzzle into the frame, unassembled, and picked it up as he rose to his feet. Near walked past him through a doorway that led to the library, his feet dragging with his languid steps. Mello looked after him as his pale figure disappeared behind the doorway, his mind numb.

It was Near's way, the uncertainty he instilled within others while everything made immaculate sense within his own mind. He very well could have been secretly relating to Mello, giving him the slightest glimpse that their struggles were the same. Yet it could also be his manipulative nature choosing Mello as its next victim. Near could never be trusted, not as a rival and certainly not as a friend. It was his only way to survive. He was first in line to succeed L. The target on his back stood out starkly against his white pajama shirt, red as the blood that would spill from his body should someone take action, too vivid to ensure his safety. Any number of his competitors would slit his throat at a moment's notice if given the chance and the opportunity to escape. If Near allowed any one, no matter whom, to get close to him, he would be signing his own death certificate.

Mello was expected to attack Near. Roger had always had extra precaution when bringing the two into the same room. With Mello's instability and Near's nature for knowing exactly how to tip a scale to his favor, many believed it would only be a matter of time before they found Mello covered in Near's blood.

But Mello would never stoop so low as to resort to foul play. At least not in a battle of minds. If he were to become superior, he would do it with his own labors and perseverance. And it became his own secret duty to protect Near. The way an older sibling will mock and insult a younger sibling yet destroy any other party with the same attempts, Mello surpassed anyone who wished to take his place. He jealously occupied the rank below first, never willing anyone to snatch it from him. And in that way, he reserved his right to kill Near. Kill him the day he became superior.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Mello glanced up to the clock fastened to the wall above one of the many large bookcases lining the walls of the library. _Seven-thirty. I have an hour and a half until they close the doors_. Mello shut the large tome he had been scanning and returned it to its proper place on the shelf he had been sitting against. He moved soundlessly towards the doors, attracting the attention of several of the people he passed.

He was accustomed to the stares. They knew who he was even though he had no interest in learning their names. They knew his rank and the abilities he possessed. He knew their whispers were ones of awe and contempt. He knew they spoke of the times when he had nearly lost his mind. They could see no possible way that a boy with such extremes to his mood could take over L's position. But Mello could care less what they thought of him. He was the one standing above them. They were his inferiors.

The double oak doors closed at nine o'clock. It was allowed for children to walk the property at nightfall as long as they returned while the doors were still open. Those left outside either could page the main office through the small intercom system usually reserved for visitors where Roger would permit them entrance with penalties. Mello, however, was lucky enough to have connections inside for the occasion when he had let time slip by. He had attracted Matt's attention by throwing small rocks at his window, and Matt was glad to be of assistance. And he always ended with "You'll owe me for all this one day, Blondie. Someday, you're gonna thank me."

Mello knew that day would come. When? He could not be sure. But as long as he had time to accumulate his debt, he had more time to plan how to pay it off. He reached the doors and walked out into the cool air. The sun had sunk beneath the trees surrounding the orphanage, leaving the pine with the appearance of black serrated knifes and the deciduous as green, translucent fabric jutting up into a brightly hued sky. The east was already swathed in darkness and the west would soon follow.

A gravel driveway led from the door to a large iron gate, the spires crafted to read "Wammy's House". It branched into a path made by the feet of many children stampeding over the grass each day, leading to the playground where recess was spent. Beyond the jungle gym was a large ball court halved by a cement wall painted with a chipping grey. Whispers had reach Mello's ears that L himself had created the line of missing paint that spanned the wall horizontally. L had rarely ventured out of doors, his studying even greater than that of any of his successors, but on the occasions when he escaped into the sun, his time was spent on the court, practicing his swing with a tennis racket.

But Mello had no interest in sports or childish games played on monkey bars. He walked past the structures towards the woods. It was forbidden to go past the first line of trees, but Roger's rules did little to keep the children within bounds. Mello slipped beneath the treetops, aware of the soft crunching his shoes made on the leaves that had fallen to the ground. He could do nothing to quiet his tread any further, but pressed on deeper into the woods. He moved in a single direction so he would not lose his way and would need only to turn around and walk straight to reemerge.

He became aware of the snapping of twigs and the shuffling of footsteps that were not his own and he paused to survey the source of the noise. Voices spoke quietly, chattering and laughing gently as the footsteps carried on, coming slightly closer, but their direction was different than Mello's. And he was sure he recognized one of the voices as Matt's.

_He's outside? That's not like him… And who's with him?_ Mello's curiosity was piqued and he darted to the nearest tree root, stepping above the leaves and eliminated the sound of his footsteps. He followed the voices, keeping himself hidden behind the trunks of the massive trees until he was certain he would be undetected and he would slip to the next one. His black clothing did well to hide his body in the shadows, only his light hair and eyes had a chance of giving him away.

"So, tell me about yourself, J. We've talked a little before, but you never talk much about yourself. It's always about someone else or the work Roger has you do. I want to hear about the guy behind the letter. Can I call you Matt? Or would you prefer J?"

The voice was female, youthful and flirtatious, laced with interest. Mello paused as the ones he pursued came to a halt, stilling his breathing in the quiet night air.

"Well, I'm not that interesting a person, to tell you the truth. There's nothing behind the letter but my face, I guess."

Mello peered around the tree trunk he had positioned himself behind to view Matt and his companion. Matt had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his black and white striped shirt hanging off of his slight frame. He glance at the girl infrequently, his gaze more often directed in the direction they had come from. It was clear to Mello that he would rather be anywhere besides the forest. Mello trained his eyes on the girl. The first thing that caught his eye was her build: she was thin, far thinner than even Matt, the bones of her elbows and knees protruding sharply from her joints. Her hair was light and cut short around her shoulders, its color indistinguishable in the fading illumination. She kept her hands behind her back, the skinny fingers linked together.

"Really? But you seem so _intriguing_, J. I mean, you're ranked third to be L's successor. You must have some sort of interesting side to be able to get that far. N is albino and childish, and M has those bouts of insanity yet his still keeps trucking. _You've_ gotta have something that defines you too, J."

Matt scratched the back of his neck, his gaze still uneasy. "Listen, I really don't know why you were able to drag me out here. I have nothing to say about myself, other than I'm a hacker. I guess that's what your so-called 'interesting side' about me is… I don't have much else to tell you."

"First of all, I know fully well how I got you out here." The girl dug into the pocket of her pants and removed a small rectangular carton. She slipped it into Matt's hand with an impish wink. "Bribing does wonders. You should learn to use it. And second of all, I'm sure you have a deeper interesting side that not even _you've_ realized yet. If you'd like, I can help you with that. Sometimes, all someone needs is a push off the ledge before they can soar. I can be your push, J. And the next thing you know, I can have you flying higher than even N!"

"Well, I don't think I'd like that. There's a lot of responsibility Near takes on. I don't think I'm cut out for that. I'm not the kind of person to do things that I don't want to. I do them now, but I never really apply myself. In reports I'm assigned, I wait until the last minute and hack a bunch of websites to get my info. I cut corners. I'd never be able to do what L does, not even Near or Mello. I may be in the line to be one of L's successors, but it doesn't interest me in the slightest. Hey, can we go back inside? I'm not to comfortable out here…"

The girl gave an exaggerated sigh and crossed her arm over her chest with a wide sweep. "You're not too fun today. Usually you want to talk. You chat my ear off most of the time, blabbing on and on about things that I don't really care about. But I listen anyway! And now the one time I _want_ to listen, you shut up like a clam!"

"Listen, Phobia, I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night and I have the worst pain in the neck from it. And I don't like the outside air. It's too stuffy…"

"Stuffy? And the air inside _that _place is any better?" She made a gesture in the general direction of the orphanage. "You're certainly strange, J. That must be you're interesting side! You're all backwards! You like indoors better than outdoors, video games better than real people, and cigarettes better than dessert."

Matt opened the carton she had recently given him and set one of the cigarettes between his lips. "Yeah? So what? You have a problem with it? 'Cause I certainly don't." Pulling a small book of matches from the pocket of his baggy jeans, Matt ignited the cigarette and took a long drag off of it. "Thanks. So how did you get these anyway?"

"I swiped them from Roger's office the other day. He keeps a stash for 'medical reasons', so I thought I'd help myself because I can't think of one condition requiring nicotine. I snuck a glimpse at my file one time and it turns out that one of my older sisters is a thief. She's pretty well known in the underground for it, too. I guess I got some of the sticky finger genes." She tittered childishly and began to prance off in the direction of the orphanage. "You coming back or not?"

"Oh, so _now_ you want to go back. Sheesh." Matt pulled on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke in exasperation. "This is the last time I let you bribe me, Phobia."

"Tell that to your nicotine addiction two hours after you finish that pack."

"You really annoy me sometimes, you know?"

The girl twirled on her heels and stuck out her tongue playfully, bending at the waist and folding her arms behind her back. "And you wouldn't like me any other way." She turned and sped off with the thin limbs of a gazelle, darting between the trees as her laughter echoed on behind her.

"Well," Matt murmured, just loud enough to not be to himself, "I don't necessarily _like_ you." He crushed his cigarette beneath the leaves of the forest floor and plod on in the direction the girl had vanished to.

Long after he was gone, Mello remained locked in his place. He felt the rough bark of the tree press against his back through the cloth of his thin shirt. The air was beginning to hold the gentle sting of a chill, pricking his skin through his clothes. But Mello had no will to move.

His teeth sunk into his lip, his brow furrowed, his hands clenching and relaxing at his sides. His mind raced, replaying the conversation he had eavesdropped on numerous times in his head.

A relationship. Something that had been going on for some unknown period of time.

Her speech pattern, the flirtatious phrases and offerings. Her knowledge of what his words had previously told her.

Bribery. Mello had no recollection of Matt smoking. The scent never clung to him or wafted around his room. It was either a new habit, or something considerably well hidden. Mello had only ever been alone with Matt at night, when his inferior was nearing his time to slumber and had shed the clothes he had worn through out the day. Any stench of cigarettes lingering on his bare body could have easily been washed away with a shower.

A girl named Phobia. A girl who knew Matt. A girl with a talent for crime. A girl who knew how to play the game, bending the rules to accommodate her and aid her chances of victory.

And for the first time, Mello became fearful.

A girl named Phobia.

Her very name suggested it.

She knew Matt. Knew things about him Mello had not been aware of. She had even been able to coax Matt out of the orphanage, something not even the offer of a software update could achieve.

She had breached the ivory tower Matt had constructed around himself, a tower Mello was allowed entrance to every so often. But the girl had forced herself in, not been granted entry by consent. Matt's tower would crumble if she continued with her ministrations. She was chipping away at him, slowly causing him to cave and be thrust out into the rest of the world. And if Matt were to drop into the real world, a world where no niche had ever been created for him, he would never survive.

And neither would Mello.

Without Matt's ivory tower, Mello, too, would find death quickly. His only escape from the real world would be crushed, demolished to rubble by a girl with no right to her powers.

She was his enemy. He had to fight her. Fend her away for Matt's sake. And for his own.

Pulling himself away from the tree, the bark leaving indents in his skin where he had heavily supported he slight weight, Mello strode back towards the orphanage, head high in the clouds with dizziness. The sound of his footsteps crushing the leaves seemed far below him, as if he were a giant, twenty feet tall, his body so elongated he had no connection to it.

He found himself counting his footsteps, the faint thuds that just reached his ears. He calculated the number, even as his steps grew unstable, even as the earth seemed to shake beneath him. The number rose and rose, higher and higher yet he could not reach the open space. He was trapped in the forest, surrounded by the trees he had used for escape, to create a barrier between the horrors of the orphanage that pulled his life apart seam by seam. And as his footfalls rang off the trees, they mixed with the echo of tittering laughter, bouncing around him, in and out of his head.

His cheek hit the ground hard before he realized that he had fallen. His breath came in shallow pants. His mind was filled with her laughter, the laughter of a girl named Phobia. A girl named fear. The laughter of a girl who had the power to end Mello's life without even trying.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Author Note: Hey there! I've returned! I... uh... have had a pretty distracting time, but I won't bore anyone with the details. But everything's going smoothly now. So I should be around more. Hopefully.I started this chapter about four months ago but never had the impetus to continue. But I got back on the old horse the other day. Anyway, behind Matt being called "J", each of L's successors are given a letter to show their closeness to L. Like Near is N and Mello is M. Because M is already taken, and Matt's real last name *SPOILER* is "Jeevas", some speculation is that his letter is J. Just some trivia I wanted to use. So I don't own Death Note. Not in the least. By the way, readers, reviews are like Ryuk's apples to me. If you like anything about the story, let me know. It may give me inspiration to write quicker. Peace out.

-cagedbird361


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